There's a sense of loss.
And that of helplessness.
There's a feeling of apprehension.
And that of odd disquiet.

I have come to realise, that life has become less droll and more dull. As we grow up, we conform to society's expections and slowly lose that zest we had as children. That zeal for life and that that we geniunely enjoyed. It's all about books now, is it not? The grades, the essays and the certificate we all aim for. Paper qualifications. Practicalities.

What happened to those dreams? What happened to the determination to be someone other than what we are expected to be? Paper pushers. PhD holders. Impressive. Satisfying? Who can tell? Not me.

Where have those dreams gone? Buried under pragmatism. Abandoned but not forgotten. No one can tell me what I should do and no one should tell me what I cannot do. Should, would, cannot, will not. The future is tainted with uncertainty. Marred. Because the wonderment is lost.

How intricate are those patterns that we weave?
Tangled webs?

Perhaps.